A Change of Habit
by Cairn Destop
Summary: So what happens when one of Redwall's leaders steps down from office. This 4,000 word story explores the dynamics involved when a new Abbot assumes the role of leader.


The mole placed his paws on his hips, his lips moved without him speaking. The fellow grabbed a piece of chalk and drew closer to his subject. He held the stubby object like a dagger.

"Whatever you do, don't move, sir."

His paw slashed out, scoring the garment. He circled the podium where his subject stood. He muttered to himself, grabbed the fabric, and made another chalky mark. For the first time since the two came together, the mole smiled.

"Are we done?"

The mole nodded. "Place the robe on the table; I'll have it done for you by the time of the festival." He hesitated a second before adding the honorific, "Father Abbot."

Knobbick laughed. "Not for a few more hours, sir. You wouldn't have any suggestions as to what I should do until then?"

"Enjoy your last day as a free beast, sir," said the tailor.

Glad to be relieved of the green habit, he walked to the door, leaving the tailor to his work. As he stepped out of the shop, an old mouse rose from the bench stationed across the hallway. The mouse adjusted a sling before he approached him.

"Good morning Father Abbot," said Knobbick.

"Good morning Father Abbot," said the mouse.

He rattled his quills. "I'm confused. Shouldn't I address you as Father Abbot? Officially, I don't assume the office until tonight."

"Rumors fly faster than a stooping hawk. Every resident of this Abbey knows I've resigned." Silence filled the space around them. "Now don't look at me like that. Others have retired without being buried in that green habit, so my retirement is not unprecedented."

"With all due respect, I do wonder about the circumstances," said Knobbick.

"I'll tell you, but in my own good time. For now, I offer you a great opportunity. Unlike my predecessor who died in office, I can give you a few helpful hints before your new title becomes official. It may save you some embarrassment later."

Knobbick smiled, which the mouse must have interpreted as acceptance. He turned down the hall, walking at a sedate pace. Each time an Abbey resident passed, they extended a few words with the old mouse. Most remembered to congratulate him, but the older father abbot held everyone's attention. He marveled at the mouse's power of recall as he addressed each resident by name or title.

After a long stroll through the corridors of the Abbey, they reached Cavern Hole, Redwall's communal dining hall. With the midday meal still several hours away, the place looked deserted. A few residents availed themselves of a late breakfast, while others enjoyed a drink and conversation. Knobbick took a step towards the food line when the mouse stopped him.

Together, they walked to the head table. During his lifetime, Knobbick had observed the many dignitaries who shared the Father Abbot's table. For the first time, he mounted the three steps that led to the closest thing the Abbey had to a throne.

Knobbick pulled out the chair to the right, but the former Abbot of Redwall declined and directed him into that special chair. He found the cushions thick, contouring to his body. His paw pushed his quills down; worried he might damage the material. He remained rigid, unable to relax. It didn't feel proper having the current Father Abbot seated on his right like a guest.

A kitchen worker rushed to the table, almost flying up the steps. The female squirrel bowed. After a hasty greeting, she asked both what they wanted. She then rushed off to the kitchen, promising the tea would be fresh and hot.

The mouse used his muzzle as a pointer, indicating the departing squirrel. "Never approach the food line. As our leader, others serve you. Your hardest task at mealtimes is selecting who will join you, and where they will sit. Such things might seem trivial, but visiting dignitaries rank importance by which side of your chair they occupy, and how many are between him and you. For a resident, just an invitation to the head table is honor enough. Just be sure you have a full table whenever you come here at mealtime."

They remained quiet, enjoying their drink. Several times one of the kitchen workers approached, asking if they required anything. Each time the mouse dismissed them. Even Redwall's Chef took time to bid farewell to the old Father Abbot and offer his services to Knobbick. No sooner had they placed their empty cups on the table than another worker whisked them into the kitchen.

The old Father Abbot leaned closer to him. "I am going to ask you a very important question. Can you find the essence of Redwall? If not, I will tell you at the right moment."

Knobbick rose and the mouse followed. The two departed Cavern Hole and after several turns, entered the far end of the Tapestry Room. At this end, the tapestry started along the left wall and stretched halfway towards the front entrance. Knobbick stood near the central point where the legendary mouse, Martin the Warrior, dominated. His eyes wandered to either side, identifying the picture graphs that summarized historically important events.

"You must be joking," the mouse said. "This is nothing more than a collection of sheep fibers some beast dyed and wove into a pleasing picture over far too many seasons. I doubt anything remains of the original, which was nothing more than an arm's length to either side of the central portrait. Now this thing has grown more than a dozen paces long. Given enough seasons, I'll wager it shall stretch the full length of this room."

Several nearby residents heard the comment and rushed from the hall like chastised dibbuns. He found their shocked expressions mirrored his feelings. If none would defend it, then he would.

"There are too many stories of residents finding inspiration here. Some have experienced visions that have saved our Abbey far too many times, unless our historical accounts lack accuracy. It is part of our very core. Yet you treat it like a worn-out shirt."

"Inspirational, perhaps, but this is not the thing you seek."

Knobbick stood near the old Abbot, studying the tapestry. His mind recalled the many times he found this place a welcomed retreat, a place where one could be alone within a crowd. His eyes wandered to each side of the central portrait, examining the images. A season of history lessons and a teacher willing to wield a switch whenever one gave the wrong answer kept the meanings of the pictures fresh within his mind.

Then his gaze wandered upward. It hung in a simple leather sheath on two wooden pegs, accessible to anyone. He reached up and drew out the Sword of Martin. Legend said the blade remained sharp without much tending from Redwall's current champion warrior. Many attributed that to the mystical powers of the star metal and the beast that forged it. An errant finger proved the sword still held a keen edge when it nicked him.

He noted the golden hilt and the reddish stone within its pommel. Knobbick found the balance to his liking, but knew he didn't have the heart to use any weapon. To hold the blade gave him a sense of power, but not the kind he wished to use. A weapon saved others by taking life, a terrible responsibility. Knobbick returned the sword and sheath to its proper place.

A paw rested on his shoulder. "A great treasure, one we find comforting during troubling times. We would not be what we are without it. Even those who have never seen our Abbey know its power. It is feared and respected. However, it is of no value. We even lost it for a time, and our Abbey continued."

They strolled down the long hall, each deep in thought. Knobbick enjoyed the way sunlight flowed through the window, illuminating the tapestry. However, he knew his quest had just started. When he reached the bottom of the steps that separated the room from the entry foyer, he turned. Emblazed on each of the seven steps was a letter spelling the word "Redwall.

"Perhaps I am learning to see meaning in what others see as ordinary. Our history places the sarcophagus of Martin in a chamber accessible through these stairs. It might not be our essence, but it is the physical presence of his spirit. The tomb remains sealed, but it is there."

"You are learning, Knobbick."

The two resumed their journey. Knobbick climbed the marble steps, pacing his slower companion who followed two steps behind. When he turned, his eyes beheld the faceted wonder of a stained glass window that bathed the middle steps with colored light. He knew in another hour, maybe less, sunlight would no longer bath the interior with such vibrant colors, but until sunset, the stained glass window added a warm glow to a plain room.

"Can you tell me where we are, Knobbick?"

Before the hedgehog could respond, the mouse provided the answer. "This place is somewhere important, and yet every resident misses its significance."

"I'm enjoying your riddles, sir," said Knobbick, "but if every resident is unaware, I need to hear the explanation from you."

The old Abbot nodded. "This landing stands at a central point. To our right, we have the nursery and Infirmary. Most of our residents avail themselves of the first and fear the other. You must see both as the place where life begins. Death is nothing more than an unpleasant necessity before entering Dark Forest. That very thought brings me to the reason behind my early retirement.

"Our otter healer will never tell you, but over the last season, four times my heart has stopped. The last time, it took a sound whack from his rudder to restart it. I had to face my mortality that day. My heart is growing weaker, one lung is no good, my kidneys are failing, and my bones break with too much ease. A dibbun bumps into me and my arm shatters. Advancing age has made me unfit. After tonight, I shall reside in a pleasant ground floor room. Never again will I climb these stairs."

The mouse paused and pointed at the nearest door. Before he could say anything, it opened and a female badger emerged. Knobbick knew her to be the youngest daughter of the badger king of Fire Mountain. She wandered here seasons before his birth, seeking a purpose. She found it as the Abbey's Badgermom and still holds that position, despite her many seasons.

Behind the badger, five young shrews darted from the same room. All came to a sudden halt and performed a deep curtsy. None rose until the mouse told them to do so. One shrew took a quick step back, standing on the threshold of the room she had just exited. The badgermom frowned, but the girl remained at her post. Her look reflected fear, which confused Knobbick.

"Girl," said the mouse, "it was an accident. Nobody blames you for my broken arm. I'm sure your Badgermom has something wonderful planned and you wouldn't want to miss it."

That comment had the young shrew join her companions. The worry melted from her young face. The badgermom ushered the youngsters forward, but still they hesitated. Their eyes darted from the female badger to the old Father Abbot and back. The badger gave a light snort before she faced the mouse.

"We are picking flowers for tonight's festivities. We will be in the high meadow across the stream, the one where the daisies bloom. You do know to which field I refer?"

"Indeed I do, but I don't understand what disturbs you."

"My young charges fear slavers or vermin raiders. Would you be able to provide an armed escort?"

Knobbick almost laughed, but the Badgermom's serious expression stopped him. The Father Abbot promised to send a guard. The children rushed down the steps like water cresting a dam. The female badger bid a hasty farewell. She pursued the shrews, commenting about their lack of decorum and demanding they wait for her. From atop the stairs, they watched the children race to the door and beyond. Their Badgermom followed a few steps behind them.

"Our lady badger has style when she is reading bedtime stories to dibbuns," said the mouse. "I swear her renditions can make a child's fur go stiff with fear, she's that good. No doubt they remember her last reading all too vividly."

"There is no need for a guard. Last time we had such troubles happened seasons before my birth, if I recall what my parents told me when I was their age."

"As Father Abbot, remember, relieving the anxiety of others is part of your duty. You don't understand what those dibbuns represent, do you?"

When Knobbick shook his head, the mouse continued. "They represent our purpose. We are a bastion of safety to those in need. We are the bedrock to those without the stability of family. They are a future we must protect."

The two followed the corridor and turned down a side hallway. At the far end, the mouse addressed the female squirrel sitting by the door, asking her to fetch the Captain of the Guards. As she jogged back along their path, the old Father Abbot ushered his successor into his office.

The room had an airy feeling to it thanks to an expansive window. The chairs located in front of the desk had extra padding. Books reflecting the history of the Abbey lined the shelves of a bookcase. Other reference material remained within easy reach of the beast sitting behind the desk.

The old abbot walked around the desk, his paw running across the chair. Before any words passed, a light knock sounded. The female squirrel that sat outside when they first arrived poked her head into the room. She said nothing and withdrew once the mouse acknowledged her.

An otter entered the room. If one sought a beast of strength, he need look no further, he stood before them. The fellow had a hard edge to his expression, which seemed fitting considering his position as the ranking officer of Redwall's guards. The otter gave a slight bow to the mouse.

"Captain, I want you to send two armed guards to the high meadow, past the stream. Be sure they remain visible to both the Badgermom and her young charges at all times. Have the guards return to the Abbey when the dibbuns finish collecting enough flowers."

"Do you anticipate trouble?"

"None is expected, Captain. The children our Badgermom cares for want it and I see nothing wrong with their request."

"Why should I dispatch two beasts as a bloody showcase for dibbuns? One unarmed soldier should be enough."

"They go because I wish it," said the old Father Abbot. "Two armed soldiers will give those children the sense of safety they seek, and the two you assign will not be missed since all the residents are focused on tonight's party. I would also consider it a favor if you selected warriors known for their expertise with a weapon, somebody who wouldn't mind demonstrating their talent for an appreciative audience."

"I know just the two," said the Captain. "One is a master with the battleaxe, and the other has the eye of an eagle when she holds a crossbow. Everyone will have a good time."

The otter threw a sharp salute and marched out of the office. He closed the door with such a gentle touch that Knobbick wondered if he imagined the confrontation. The mouse circled the desk, his comment validating his impression.

"A ruler must command, but not demand. It's a subtle difference and one that comes with practice. As a soldier, he needs a reason for doing something he finds unnecessary. My calling it a wish allows him to save face. Take that lesson to heart; always give the other beast a means of preserving their dignity. You'll find them more cooperative if you do."

They walked out of the office. When the old Father Abbot closed the door, he spent a few moments thanking the squirrel sitting by the door for her faithful service. She dabbed at her eyes with a kerchief as they turned the corner.

"I will take you to our final destination, my private office. Since you have a mate and several dibbuns, workers are preparing suitable quarters. However, nothing leaves my office until tomorrow. Within that room you shall find the answer to your quest."

An otter stood at the cross corridor. He held a spear that reached up to his hip, which looked more befitting somebody fishing than a serviceable weapon. His face reminded Knobbick of somebody, but the resemblance eluded him.

"Let me introduce Waterstone," said the old Father Abbot. "He is the son of our Captain, and I understand he has volunteered to stand watch during your first few days as our new Father Abbot."

"I need a guard? Unless you count the times our Abbey has been under attack, I see no need for him." Knobbick nodded to the otter. "No offense to you, sir."

"This fine fellow guards the only entrance to your quarters. He protects your privacy. Only four beasts may pass him unchallenged. They are the Captain of the Guard, our Healer, and our Chief Recorder. Otherwise, none may enter this hallway unless you escort them. Even your family cannot get anyone into your private quarters."

"You said four, who is the other?"

"Each month you must select a worker to maintain your quarters. Choose somebody who is trustworthy and not prone to gossip. You will find your privacy something beyond value, so protect it well."

Knobbick chuckled. "My mate might object to such a restriction."

"You honestly think she doesn't know? While our Counsel of Elders interviewed you, a representative explained this rule to her. If she did not agree, we wouldn't be here."

The two of them entered the private quarters. The main room had a utilitarian look with a low table and two plain chairs. An open doorway at the far end led to another room, which is where the mouse took him.

The prior room had the appearance none used it; this one looked empty after hard use. The carpet showed the indentation of furniture recently removed. The place had an abandoned feel to it, as if its occupant no longer mattered.

In the far corner sat the only piece of furniture. The wooden desk had a plain appearance. If not for the marble inlay, Knobbick may have thought it procured from one of the Abbey's many classrooms. The mouse stood by the desk, his paw moving caressingly across the white marble. Knobbick noticed a fond longing in the old Father Abbot's eyes.

"Our first Abbey residents were refugees from Loamhedge. One of them was a furniture maker, a real artisan. His name is lost in history, but not his contribution. He built this for our first ruler, Abbess Germaine. Since then, every ruler of Redwall has used it. Let no other beast sit here, it is your connection to our history. When you occupy this desk, you are as untouchable as the moon."

The mouse's voice chocked with emotion. "Within this desk is the Great Seal. When you apply it to a document, it has the force of law. There is also a letter within penned by me. You will prepare a similar document before your first day in office ends. You might rewrite it many times, but you will always have one in this desk for your eventual replacement. I hope my letter provides you with the comfort and guidance you'll need in the days to come."

"You have shown me much, but have I seen the essence of Redwall?"

The mouse rose and moved to the doorway. He asked Knobbick to face him with his back against the far wall.

Satisfied, he commanded him. "Close your eyes and count to ten. When you open them, you shall have your answer."

Knobbick did as instructed. He counted aloud. At five, he stopped. Within his mind, he watched today replay. He thought of the tailor's remark when he left his shop. He recalled the green habit tradition required him to wear and knew the fabric added none of the weight he felt. Cavern Hole showed him both the privileges and the trappings of his office.

Then he stood within the Tapestry Room. So much of Redwall's past displayed before him. He wondered if his reign would earn a special icon stitched into the fabric, and at the same time feared it. Such historical events usually came at the cost of far too many lives. It scared him.

Now, he held the Sword of Martin. He found it such a light weapon, easy to use. Perhaps that fact disturbed him the most. One word from him and Redwall's champion warrior would do his bidding. Lives would end, both friends and foes. Knobbick wondered if he had the fortitude to make such a decision. Could he live with the consequences?

That doubt made him think about why he accepted this position. He did not seek leadership as a means to power. He wished to serve others. Then he recalled the strength Martin's spirit gave those who ruled. Such power didn't dictate; it fortified those who came before him. Confidence returned.

He recalled the faces of the orphaned shrews and understood their dependence on him. As the Father Abbot, he became father to all within these walls. Then the significance of the Infirmary and Nursery came crashing down on his mind. Each birth added another life dependent on his judgment. Every death diminished the Abbey. His responsibility, assure the continuation of this haven.

Badgers followed a king or queen. Otters bowed to the one they called skipper. Ship crews obeyed the word of a captain. History recorded titles of chief and warlord among the vermin. Such terms elevated and isolated the one holding it. Did his do the same? No, Abbot not only led, but also became mother or father to those within Redwall Abbey.

It explained why his predecessor knew every resident by name or title. He did not rule subjects; he led a family. Perhaps others saw this as semantics, a simple change of wording. Knobbick now understood the difference.

Tonight, he would assume the mantle of Father Abbot. It would either distinguish him, or leave a blotch on history for more seasons than he could count. As a simple farmer, he relied on others. Now those same beasts looked to him for guidance. Nobody could relieve, or share, his responsibilities. Where could he find the wisdom?

A summer storm broiled within him. Dark clouds built up into a massive thunderhead. Lightning flashed. Rains whipped the land. Knobbick took a deep breath, trying to calm his anxiety. The turmoil ceased. The sky brightened, life continued. Dangers perceived, passed. Where the storm suggested an ending, he recognized opportunities to make things better.

He concluded his count. With his eyes still closed, Knobbick did not realize the exact moment when the old Abbot withdrew. He opened his eyes to the essence of Redwall. He rattled his quills and smiled at his predecessor's wisdom. He stared into the looking glass at his reflection, knowing he could now accept, and embrace, his new role.


End file.
